


nothing makes sense, but everything rhymes

by loamvoza



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Other, POV Second Person, just the musings of a very sad mint, not that you'd be able to tell here really but just for posterity ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24710893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loamvoza/pseuds/loamvoza
Summary: it’s hard to see them for the first few days.they are so similar, but they are so different.names. faces. voices.you remember everything.they remember nothing.[Everyone's In The Same Apartment Complex AU]
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: apartment au!





	nothing makes sense, but everything rhymes

**Author's Note:**

> "the first thing i write for this AU is going to be sad," i say to myself.  
> i am correct, i realize, as i press the 'post' button.
> 
> context: you ever just try to use your goddess "go back in time" powers to go a little bit *too* far back, end up fucking up the entire world's timeline, fall asleep for a thousand years because of the catastrophic damage that caused your little flesh form, and somehow all of your friends have been reincarnated but they literally don't remember you at all? that's what's going on here. tl;dr: byleth remembers everyone. no one remembers them. it's very weird for everyone involved and they feel super responsible for fucking up the world. haha oops.

it’s hard to see them for the first few days.   
they are so similar, but they are so different.   
names. faces. voices.   
you remember everything.   
they remember nothing. 

you cannot tell if it hurts you or not. you cannot tell if your thoughts are rational. you cannot make out if it is even _alright_ to be upset. it makes you yearn to ask her for opinions that, previously, you would not miss. but she is so far away now. she responds not when you call out to her, and she leaves you on your own as she rests. 

you understand.   
she deserves the rest.   
but this loneliness as a result of your actions only stands to make you hurt worse. 

you avoid each and every one of them as you happen to come into contact in the halls. you are absolutely certain that, at this point, they at the very least think you standoffish. your empty expression coupled with your absolutely intentional avoidance does nothing to remedy that. you find yourself not caring, and think it best to avoid them so that they may avoid you as well. at least, until all of you figure out how to feel. until _you_ figure out where the proper footing is. you are not sure how long that will take, and you find yourself caring about that fact much, much more. 

some times, on the off chance that you pass one of them, you believe that you know the sight of a scar curled across skin. or, really, the sight of any sort of distinguishing mark. anything you can conjure that is proof of the war. something that is proof that they would _remember_ you. definitive proof that everything that you see here is simply a dream that you will wake up from. 

but then they look at you, confused as they did when you entered the halls of the monastery all of those years ago. some with their eyebrows raised. some with mumbles of apology, faces painted with looks of uncertainty. some with any reason that they can conjure to bury themselves deeper into technology that you’ve yet to figure out so that they need not bear witness to the person that, to them, feels so familiar yet so far away. 

and you remember that this is far from a dream. 

this is a world that you thrust yourself into, whether accidentally or not, and the pain in your chest once again grows so large that you find it difficult to breathe. 

you turn over the lion-shaped brooch that you’d received all of those years ago for your birthday in your hand, and you breathe a heavy sigh. it bounces around on the empty walls of the place you are now supposed to call your ‘home’.

they will always be your students, but they will never again call you ‘professor’.   
something about that, you think, hurts worst of all. 

you pick yourself up from the chair that you feel as though you have been sat in for hours, and you carry yourself to the door. with your one hand still turning, turning, turning that small piece of metal, your other hand reaches to lock the door. 

perhaps you will talk to them again one day.  
perhaps, one day, it will feel safe to.   
perhaps, one day, you will let them know you again.   
perhaps, one day, you will feel as though you haven’t failed them. 

that one day is not today. 

you set the brooch on your kitchen counter top.  
you head to bed. you try to ignore the tear dripping down your cheek.   
you try your damnedest to ignore just how much you miss the only people in your life that you could ever call _friends,_ even though they walk amongst you. walking. living. breathing.  
  
your friends. _your friends.  
_ but you are a stranger.

it’s better this way, you tell yourself. it’s safer this way.   
and you will tell yourself that until it is no longer true.  
the longer you dwell on it, the more you realize that you do not know if it will ever not be true.

you turn off the light.


End file.
